


In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning

by XxAngelicMurderxX



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Bottom Steve Rogers, Hair Pulling, Kissing, Kissing Kink, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Scratching, Top Bucky Barnes, but only slightly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 14:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10992702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxAngelicMurderxX/pseuds/XxAngelicMurderxX
Summary: In the wee small hours of the morning,While the whole wide world is fast asleep,You lie awake and think about the girlAnd never, ever think of counting sheep.When your lonely heart has learned its lesson,You'd be hers if only she would call,In the wee small hours of the morning,That's the time you miss her most of all.





	In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Stucky fic based off the song, "In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning" by Frank Sinatra. I love this song and I couldn't help, but think of Stucky. Now I haven't written anything since September of 2016 so I'm a little rusty. I hope you enjoy it! Comments are encouraged and greatly appreciated!

_In the wee small hours of the morning. While the whole wide world is fast asleep._

 Bucky didn’t know how long he’d been staring at the ceiling, but it had been _far_ too long for his liking. Sleep was avoiding him like the plague and he was beginning to grow restless. He’d tossed and turned for what felt like a solid hour before giving up and just staring blankly at the ceiling waiting for sleep to take him, but it still hasn’t.

 His body was tired, drained. His sore muscles and aching back could attest to that. Lifting fifty pound crates and moving eighty pound pallets around the warehouse for ten hours with his father down at the docks did a number on his entire body. As soon as the whistle blew to signal the end of the work day, Bucky bolted home. When he got there, his mother’s famous roast beef and potatoes (a rare and special meal around his house) was waiting for him. He scarfed down about three full servings, almost choking twice.

 “ _James Buchanan Barnes, you better savor and appreciate that meal,”_ his mother had scolded. Prime roast beef wasn’t cheap and the amount needed to satisfy the hunger of two grown men in itself was enough to feed a small army.

 _“Yes, momma…,”_ Bucky mumbled in between bites. Making sure to “savor and appreciate” every morsel of his mother’s cooking. Lord knows when he’d get the chance to eat again.

 After helping his mother clean up, Bucky slowly made his way upstairs, wincing as he tried massaging his shoulders, to take a boiling hot shower in an attempt to soothe this aching muscles. He was going to be in for one helleva morning when the pain hits him like a ton of bricks and he can barely walk. Thankfully his father didn’t need him to come with him in the morning again, even if he did, Bucky wasn’t sure he’d be capable of moving a single finger let alone his entire body. That would be asking for _far_ too much.

 By the time he got into bed it was 10:30 and about four hours later he found himself devoid of sleep and unable to turn off his brain. Unable to stop himself from thinking about Steve Rogers. Thinking about him in ways that both confused and excited him.

_You lie awake and think about the girl…_

 He missed his best friend the entire day he was working down at the docks. He missed being with Steve and it both amazed and scared him how much he _loved_ being with him. No matter what was going on in his life, the moment Steve entered Bucky’s space an overwhelming wave of calmness and relief washed over him like a tsunami. Everything felt effortless, like he never had to try around Steve. Never felt like he needed act a certain way or talk a certain way around Steve. It was…nice, almost freeing. And when Steve wasn’t around, everything felt off kilter; like something wasn’t quite right. At times it was almost sickening.  

 Those two were inseparable. Always glued at the hip some would say. If you wanted to find Bucky you’d look for Steve and when you wanted to find Steve you looked for Bucky. One could bet their entire lifesavings on the chance that they’d be found together off somewhere. But no one could have ever suspected that Bucky was harboring something more than just friendly or brotherly feelings for the smaller man. At first he just brushed it off. Of course he felt this way, Steve was his best friend and best friends love and care deeply about each other right? There was no weight behind his feelings, nothing beyond friendship. Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself…

_When your lonely heart has learned its lesson. You'd be hers if only she would call…_

There were times where the brunet would catch himself staring at the young artist. Watching his deft fingers curl around the worn down graphite pencil as he sketched whatever so happened to have caught his eye. The way he’d lick his lips as he began to shade and finalize lines; his hand movements growing faster. It was a religious experience. One Bucky would gladly drop to his knees and take communion for _each_ and _every_ time that he was able.

 To Bucky, Steve Rogers was an angel. An unearthly, heavenly creature that this godless plane of existence was not worthy of having. That _he_ was not worthy of having.

 His hair was a halo that was as golden as the gates of Heaven itself. His sharp, defined facial structure rivaled that of the mightiest mountains, yet were soft in such a way that mirrored that of a fresh blanket of snow upon a once barren tree top. The way his lips curve into the shape of a perfect cupid’s bow that _anyone_ would be _lucky_ enough to kiss was unlike any work of art he’d ever seen.  Art that he has dreamt of kissing more than once. And his eyes…God all mighty his eyes…They were two pristine pools of the purest skyline. One could get lost searching for themselves in his eyes and he has…every single time they’ve looked at each other. It was like finding God and the entirety of Heaven itself. Nothing could ever compare to the feelings it gives way too in Bucky’s heart.

 But of course Bucky could never say this out loud for fear of both losing Steve and his life. So he just came to accept that it would be best to keep his feelings hidden and just enjoy having Steve in his life. So long as Steve is happy then so is he. Because after all, that’s all Bucky really wants…isn’t it? Steve’s happiness, even at the costs of his own? If he could just know what it felt like to hold Steve in his arms. Feel his heart beat against his bare chest. Know the taste of his lips on his own. Experience the religious experience that would be making love to Steven Grant Rogers. Just one time…that’s all he would need. A single moment in the vast, ever expanding ocean that is time itself to trace his fingers along every curve of Steve’s body. To kiss each newly acquired bruise and cut from Steve’s latest back alley brawl. To lick the entire expansion of every scar from his numerous operations to repair his body. To feel the slightly raised scar tissue along his tongue as he traced the pathways until he reached Steve’s hip bones.

_In the wee small hours of the morning. That's the time you miss her most of all…_

 Bucky sighed as he ran his hands up his face and through his hair. He had finally given up on trying to fall asleep. Swinging his legs over his bed, Bucky got up and decided to take a walk to try and tire his brain out enough to at least get a few hours of sleep. He made his way over to the window, slowly lifting it as not to make too much noise. He did not need his parents waking up and asking questions as to where he was going at two-thirty in the morning. Bucky also didn’t need them knowing exactly _who_ has been keeping him up for the past four hours.

 After slowly and quietly making his way down the fire escape, Bucky’s feet finally touched the ground. All of Brooklyn was fast asleep in these wee small hours of the morning; give or take a few stray lights on in other apartment buildings. The only other sources of light were the street lights lighting up the otherwise pitch black world around them.

 Having no real direction in mind, Bucky just started walking; letting his feet make up their own path. How long he had been walking or how far he’d gone from home, Bucky didn’t know, but he began to slow down before coming to a complete halt in front of a building. It didn’t take Bucky long to realize where he had ended up, more so where his _feet_ had taken him.

 Steve Roger’s apartment building.

 Bucky could see nothing but black coming from the front expansion of the building; all its tenants sound asleep. Taking the side alley next to it, Bucky made his way around and saw the same wall of black he had from the front, save for a single faint glow of a light coming from the top right window. _Steve’s room._ What he was still doing awake? Bucky wondered. Was he having trouble sleeping as well? Or had he just fallen asleep at his desk drawing again?

 Well curiosity had gotten the best of him now and it wasn’t going to let him go until it was sated. Making his way over to the fire escape, Bucky began his ascension to Steve’s window. God he hoped no one else was awake somewhere else in the neighborhood watching him climbing up the side of Steve’s apartment building suspiciously at now three in the morning on a Saturday. It would not be a story Bucky wanted to tell to whoever had seen him, especially if his feelings take the better of him and he, God forbid, acts on them so carelessly…

 Peeking over the edge of the window sill, Bucky looked into Steve’s room. The smaller man was not fast asleep at his desk, sketch book open underneath him like Bucky had originally thought. He was in fact sitting in front of his easel deeply entranced with the drawing coming to life upon it. The brunet was instantly enraptured as he watched the blonde’s nimble fingers working ever so quickly, ever so gracefully across the paper. He let out a groan that came out a lot louder than he had intended, which was apparently loud enough to jolt the artist out of his trance as he quickly searched for the source of the noise only for his eyes to land on his best friend staring at him from the window sill.

 “Jesus Christ, Buck!” Steve panted, his heart racing, as he quickly made his way over to the window. “What in God’s name are you doing here?” Steve quickly opened the window and yanked the larger man in. Hissing at him to get the hell in here before someone sees him.

 “It’s three in the morning, Steve,” Bucky said as he glanced at the clock on Steve’s bedside table. “I don’t think there’s much of an audience watching.”

 Steve’s eyes narrowed for a moment in confusion.

 “No, it’s only nine, Buck,” Steve argued. “I just sat down and started working on this sketch.”

 Bucky let out a small laugh and pointed at the clock.

 “I hate to burst your bubble pal, but it’s a little after three in the morning.”

 Steve was taken aback for a moment or two as he stared at the clock. He had gotten so engrossed his work that time seemed to slip past him. He forgets how quickly the hours fly by when he really gets into his work.

“But wait,” Steve said as he turned back to his best friend. “Why are you here then?”

“Trouble sleeping,” Bucky replied, starching the back of his head. “Took a walk and kinda ended up here. Saw that your light was on and I figured you either fell asleep drawing or you were having the same problem I am.”

 Steve huffed. “Now that I think about it, I don’t think I could sleep even if I wanted to; still too much in that headspace.”

 “Good thing I’m here then,” Bucky laughed nervously as he looked at the floor. “We can help… _tire_ each other out.” Bucky’s eyes flicked back up to meet Steve’s; giving him a knowing gaze.

 Steve knew that look. That intense look of longing that never failed to make his heart pound. He had seen it done on him once before when they were fifteen. Having grown up sown at the hip, the two boys experienced _everything_ together. This included discovering the often confusing world of sex and pleasure. The boys were a little late on the topic, but quickly figured it out when they overheard upper classman talking about their sexual conquests. Putting two and two together one day after school in Steve’s room, the boys dove into that world together.

 What resulted in that first expedition was their first kiss, for both of them, and their first time masturbating…which both boys “assisted” other. The two knew that _no one_ could find out about it, so it was kept secret. But what couldn’t be kept secret, at least in Steve’s heart, was how he felt about Bucky from that day on. He couldn’t help, but become enamored with the taller boy. The thing was…it wasn’t a gushy type of infatuation. In fact, it was infatuation at all, meaningless with no solid foundation. Steve cared deeply about Bucky; he always had. However, that afternoon in his bedroom had changed those feelings, developed them more thoroughly. Steve wanted Bucky in more ways than he knew he could ever have, could _never_ have.

 Lost in his own thoughts, Steve didn’t realize Bucky was now standing an inch or so away from him. He quickly snapped back to reality and he couldn’t help but gaze up at his best friend. The brunet took a single step forward. The blonde took a step back and another and another until the two men were in sync as they slowly walked backwards. When Steve felt the cool wall hit his back, he let out a small gasp. Bucky was now towering above him; left arm bent on the wall while the right hung at his side twitching like he couldn’t decide between keeping it down or touching Steve.

 Steve decided for him. Gently grabbing Bucky’s hand, Steve guided it to encompass the side of his face. Bucky let out a sharp breath. If this was a dream, then Jesus Christ no one wake him up.  

 Steve’s skin was like the finest silk, far softer than he could have ever imagined. His thumb slowly traced the curve of the artist’s bottom lip. Feeling the soft, plump flesh glide over his thumb made Bucky physically tremble. All the countless nights, all the dreams he had been blessed with paled in comparison to the real experience of actually _touching_ Steve. Bucky took extra care to feel and commit to memory the shape of the cupid’s bow that he has spent so many sleepless nights thinking of.

 The artist let out a choked off whimper at the gentleness his best friend was showing him. There was so much love and admiration in his eyes it almost hurt. It hurt, because the artist had never known such gentle touches in the way that the brunet was showing him. He had only known cold, firm, at times bruising touches from doctors and stethoscopes prodding him in search for the current problem trying to kill him. But he had _never_ known such touches from Bucky… _ever._ And that…meant more to Steve than Bucky would ever realize…

 Bucky slowly leaned in until he was a mere inch or so away from Steve’s lips.

 “Tell me to stop,” Bucky whispered so quietly it was almost lost to the silence. “Tell me to stop and I’ll leave right now and we can play this off as a weird dream and we never have to mention this again.”

 Without hesitation, Steve closed the miniscule gap between them and pressed his lips against Bucky’s for the first time in almost four years.

“Don’t ever stop,” Steve answered against Bucky’s lips. “Don’t you ever stop.”

 And with that, Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck, yanking him in as close as he possibly could and latched his mouth on the meat of Bucky’s shoulder; sinking his teeth in deep. He could feel the artist rake his fingers through his hair, fingernails scraping across his scalp with just enough force to blur the line between painful and pleasurable. Bucky let out a deep groan, trying so hard to keep his voice down. The walls weren’t exactly thick and he didn’t need Mrs. Rogers waking up and barging in on them, especially when he has her son pushed up against the wall in a less than appropriate position.

 Using his free hand, Bucky cradled the back of Steve’s head, yanking him backwards so that he could slot his mouth against his in a searing kiss. As if on instinct, both men began to roll their hips against one another, relishing in the friction and the adrenaline that comes from the risk of being caught should they make too much noise or Steve’s mother decides to check up on him. It just made everything all the more exciting…and terrifying. Any moans the two men produce were captured in between heated and increasingly rougher kisses. Four years of pent up sexual frustration on both their parts was enough to escalate the encounter and push them farther and farther into their own little world. A little world filled with nothing but their cries of pleasure and sweet confessions of love.

 Steve felt two hands curve into the shape of his ass, felt them push him up almost like a boost. Taking the hint, he allowed them to raise him up just enough so that he could wrap his legs around Bucky’s torso. He felt the hands tighten their grip on his ass as suddenly the wall was no longer against his back and a rush of cool air hit causing Steve to break away and gasp at the sudden change.

 “Don’t want to take you against the wall,” Bucky said lowly, breathlessly. “Want you spread out beneath me.”

 The artist could do nothing but moan in agreement, quickly finding the young dock worker’s lips again.

 Slowly lowering them on the bed, the two men quickly fell back into their rhythm. Lips joined together in a dance of lust and passion. Broken off, hushed moans and groans trapped between the meeting of lips and teeth against flesh.

 Lost in blind lust, clothes were ripped off with such speed and ferocity that the fear of having to explain the various rips to each of the men’s parents was not even a thought in their minds.

 Hands began to roam. Mouths sought the flesh colored canvas to litter with marks. Nails raking down backs, arms, chests. Hearts raced faster than any bullet. Heat began to climb steadily as bodies grinded closer and increasingly faster.

 It was all a symphony being composed note by note, staff by staff, with every whimper, gasp, groan, moan, and choked off confession of love; what a glorious symphony it was. The grandest of any opus that could have ever been produced. And it was all _theirs_. No one else’s ears but theirs will ever be graced with the sound of their creation.

 “Bucky,” Steve whimpered as he gripped the other man’s shoulders with such force that his knuckles were white, nails dug in so deeply crescent moons began to form.

 God in Heaven. Bucky felt the air in his lungs leave him as he gazed down at his golden angel. His large hands encompassing that golden halo. Heaven did exist; that much he knew. For he was staring directly into the eyes of it. Eyes glazed over, mouth slightly ajar with small rapid puffs of air escaping. This was heaven; the place of absolute happiness and everlasting joy. Steve Rogers _was_ _his heaven_ ; the highest form any human being could ever _hope_ to have in this life.

 Bucky could feel his breath quicken as he slowly, almost hesitantly, cupped Steve’s face.

 “You’re so beautiful…” It left his lips without hesitation, without force, effortlessly. He felt his heart breaking at the sight of it all. How could something so beautiful, so _sacred_ , be an act of sin? How could the overwhelming love he had for this man, this _angel_ , be a horrid godless act?

It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Steve was a creation of God. A creation crafted with an absolute love; the absolute love of a Father. Bucky’s love was also born of the same hands, of the same absolute love. This was no act of sin. This was an act of communion. An act of praise and admiration done at the altar of one Steven Grant Rogers. If this was what a true communion was then he will gladly fall to his knees and partake in it  every chance he gets.   

 His chance now lies before him; beneath him cradling his face begging him to take him. Crying out to feel him deep inside him where no one else has ever or will ever be.

 Bucky falls to his knees. He begins to break bread and will soon drink from the cup.

 Bucky slowly, methodically catalogs every curve of Steve’s body with his tongue. Tracing every pathway Steve’s bones and scars create. Kissing every single scar, both faded and fresh. The slight rise in the longer scars running across his tongue sent shivers down the dock worker’s spine. He revels in the sighs and quieted moans Steve creates; hands held tightly around his own mouth so as not to give them away.

 Biting and pinching the hardening pebbles of Steve’s nipples has the man anchoring his hands in Bucky’s auburn locks. Tightening, untightening over and over with every swipe of the dock worker’s tongue and bite of his teeth.

 He tells Steve with a growl, “ _Harder_ , Baby Doll. Make me remember this every time I run my hands through my hair. Make me _remember_ the pain, the pleasure only _you_ can give me.”

 He wants to forget that there may never be a next time. That there may be other people who enter their beds; who run the same paths along their bodies. He wanted to forget that, focus on what lies before him in this moment.

 Bucky takes his time prepping Steve. Slowly introduces each finger until there is no resistance; only muffled cries of pleasure when he brushes up against that special spot. He commits to memory the way Steve clenches around his fingers; the way his hips roll in order to take him deeper. The way his angel keeps pulling him in to kiss him; gifting him with his gorgeous moans and whimpers with every bolt of pleasure that ran down his spine.

 How much time had pass, neither of them knew, but enough had gone by for Bucky to proceed farther in his communion. He has broken the bread, savored its flavor. Now he must drink from the cup.

“Are you ready?” The dock worker asks, positioning the tip of cock at Steve’s entrance.

“Yes,” Steve replies breathlessly, cheeks flushed a deep crimson that expanded down his neck and chest. Sweat prominent on his brow. “I’ve always been ready…”

 With final approval, the larger man slowly began to push in, pausing every few seconds so that Steve can adjust. The crown of his head pushed past the ring of muscle and the rest soon followed.

 Bucky’s hips made contact with Steve’s hips as he bottomed out. It took all of his strength not to come right then and there. The periodic clenching of Steve’s muscles. The heat radiating around his cock. The feeling of those velvety walls. It was better than anything Bucky could have imagined.

The artist wrapped his legs around his best friend’s torso so that he could draw him in as close as humanly possible. He met each of his friend’s thrust with equal intensity and passion. It was all so surreal in the sense that he never dreamed Bucky would have felt the same way about him. Bucky could have one he wanted and yet he chose _him_. His heart ached with the overwhelming love and admiration he felt pour out of his best friend with every thrust and every moan of his name.

 “St-Steve,” Bucky stuttered, lost in the pleasure of their love making. “I don’t know how much longer I-I can last.” His hips began to speed up, indicating his approach to climax.

 “It’s okay,” Steve quickly replied. “I’m not far beh-“ Steve didn’t get to finish his sentence as Bucky timed a particular jolt of his hips to slam into his prostate and a choked, jagged cry ripped from his lips. He was so lost in pleasure he couldn’t give a rat’s ass if anyone had heard him or not. A string of moans continued to pour from his mouth as he held on tightly to Bucky’s body; dragging his nails down the entirety of his back leaving red welts in their wake.

“Steve, God I-“ Bucky sobbed. “I love you.” He couldn’t add anything else to his confession before his hips slammed once more into the smaller man. Pleasure over took him and he felt himself come hard and deep within his golden angel.

 Steve was only a second behind as he bit down hard onto Bucky’s shoulder as he followed the man in orgasm. His back arching, a muffled scream tearing from his lips only to be trapped between the flesh in his teeth.

 The young men collapsed back onto the bed. Deep, audible gasps for air filled the room. One would think they both had just run a mile.

 Steve blindly ran his hand through Bucky’s sweaty locks. Lovingly cradling the back of his head and placing a kiss on his temple.

 “I love you too, Bucky,” Steve said just loud enough for only Bucky to hear into his ear.

 Bucky sighed happily as he nuzzled against Steve’s neck in response.

 They were two foolish men in love, but neither cared about the danger they had just put themselves in. They didn’t care in this moment that they’d never be able to be together in public. That they’d never be able to openly declare their love for one another, but in the wee small hours of the morning, they could proclaim it all they wanted. _This_ was _their_ time. In the wee small hours of the morning their love was not a forbidden act. It was not a _sinful_ act.

 In the wee small hours of the morning, their love making was a communion so sacred, a symphony so grand, that only they would ever be lucky enough to partake in. Be lucky enough to have their ears graced with the sweet sounds of their love.


End file.
